


Dream With Me a While

by elrhiarhodan



Series: Deadmarked [2]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Dom/sub Undertones, Eobarry, Fantasy, Friendship, Grief, M/M, Masturbation, Porn, Slash, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, alternative universe, barrison, don't be afraid to touch your meat, eowells - Freeform, mmom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-27 01:56:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10799292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: Part Two ofDeadmarked.   Barry was born with a soul mark, something very rare in the waning days of the twentieth century.  His mark, unlike others, is colorless and lifeless, and he's been told by the "experts" that his soulmate is dead.  But when Barry's nineteen, the mark comes alive.





	Dream With Me a While

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kyele](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyele/gifts).



> Written for Day 2 of the 2017 Edition of Merry Month of Masturbation, for the prompt "Present". As with all of the Deadmarked series, it's inspired by [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/kyele/profile)[](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/kyele/)**kyele** , who wanted some achy EoBarry soulmate fic. 
> 
> She asks (most politely), I get bunnied. Epics ensue. That's how we roll.
> 
> Title from The Moody Blues classic, "Twilight", from _Days of Future Past_.
> 
> Additional note: If you'd subscribed to the series through the link in Living in the Past, please resubscribe. AO3 had a hiccup yesterday, it put the fic in a draft version and also published it, something I didn't realize until I went to publish this story. Therefore, [Deadmarked](http://archiveofourown.org/series/717045) had two separate series links. I ended up deleting the series that the original story was linked to and used the series accidentally created by the draft (that wasn't my intention but it's what happened). My apologies for the confusion.

"I think I've met my soulmate." Iris doesn't look at Barry as she whispers those fateful words. The low tone is more for Barry's feelings than the fear that anyone will overhear, since he's alone with Iris in his lab at the CCPD.

He doesn't ask, "Are you sure?" because Iris is rolling up her sleeve to show him her mark. For the last ten years, it's been a series of shimmery white scrolls and flourishes, about four inches long, on the inside of her right arm. It had appeared shortly after Iris' sixteenth birthday and Barry had teased her ever so gently that her mark was just as beautiful as Iris herself.

Despite the mark, Iris had had an active social life through high school and college, dating anyone who'd caught her eye, of late. But lately, she'd become much more selective, telling Barry that she had a feeling that her soulmate was going to enter her life soon.

And it seems that he – or she - had. The start of the scrolling lines now read, "You deser" but the rest was still the same beautiful nonsense that shimmered and shifted, more alive than it had ever appeared before.

Barry looks at the mark and tries not to feel jealous and resentful. His own mark… 

"What do you think it means?" 

"You'll find out soon enough. After all, your soulmate is here in Central City. Do you remember where you were when the mark started changing?" Barry has spent a lot of time researching soul marks, not that there is a lot of credible scientific literature on the subject. The marks had only started appearing on people in the mid-1950s, and until the early 1990s, had been dismissed as patient fantasies by the medical profession. Recent advancements in "mark resolution studies" indicated that proximity to a compatible mate triggered the mark's transformation.

Iris grimaces. "I was all over Central City yesterday, tracking down leads on a new story. I was at the courthouse, three police precincts, two crime scenes …" She shakes her head. "I didn't notice anything until I got home last night and showered."

"You didn't feel anything?"

"Maybe it itched a little?" Iris scrunches up her nose. "I really don't remember."

"Some people have reported feeling nothing when their mark starts to change, others say that the sensation is unbearable."

"You're a huge help, Barry Allen."

"Sorry."

Iris pulls down her sleeve. "What should I do?"

"Retrace your steps?"

"And just keep looking at my arm? That's ridiculous."

"I thought you wanted to find your soulmate?"

"I do, it's just …"

"Just what?"

"What if I don't like him? Or her? What if they don't like _me_?" Iris, for the first time since Barry's had met her, sounds scared and insecure.

"I think that's an impossibility. You are smart and beautiful and kind. If you didn't have a mark, I'd be head-over-heels in love with you."

Iris gives him The Look, the one that only life-long friends have. "It would also help if you liked pussy instead of dick."

It's a good thing that Barry's only toying with his cup, not drinking from it, because he'd have just showered Iris with coffee coming out of his nose. "That is true."

"And I'm sorry about going on about my mark. It's insensitive." Iris does the unthinkable and puts her hand on Barry's forearm, right where his mark is.

"No, it's okay. You're not being at all insensitive. Most people don't have marks."

Iris doesn't say anything, she pulls away her hand and looks at him. Words aren't necessary.

Her cell phone buzzes, breaking the moment. Iris looks at the display and sighs. "The real world returns. I've got to run." Iris puts on her jacket and slings her bag over her shoulder.

Before she leaves, Barry asks, "You're coming with me tomorrow night, right?" 

"The particle accelerator launch at S.T.A.R. Labs? Just how I want to spend my Friday night."

Barry tries not to feel hurt. "You don't have to, if you've got something else on the books."

"No, no – I promised. Besides, I love watching you geek out."

"Pity you don't handle the science beat, you could multitask."

"God forbid! I'd be camped out here in your lab all day long and you'd never get any work done because you'd be explain everything to me. Besides, Linda's covering the event for the Picture-News, so I'll be free to hang on your arm and watch you get your nerd on." Iris' phone buzzes again. "Damn, I've really got to go – but tomorrow night, definitely."

Barry smiles and nods and watches Iris as she leaves in a dramatic rush. They'd been best friends since they were seven, when he'd been the new kid at school and she'd sat down next to him at lunch and offered him half of a package of cookies because he looked miserable.

Nothing about Iris' spirit has changed in the intervening two decades. She's still loving and generous and beautiful and compassionate. Life would be so much easier if she didn't have a soulmate waiting for her.

And if he liked girls.

And if he didn't have an anomaly on his arm. 

Unlike Iris, his mark had appeared at birth, and it's ugly – an unintelligible scrawl the size of a plum. It's not even scrambled words, but like a clump of hair one finds in the shower drain. That in and of itself doesn't mean anything; the beauty of Iris' mark is a rare thing. It's that Barry's mark had been, until relatively recently, been dead.

True soul marks are like living tattoos, the lines shimmering with color and life. Some of the more romantically inclined research posited that the color of marks reflected the potential mate's physical or emotional state. Other, more respectable research holds that the marks' colors are meaningless. What all of the research agrees on, though, is that if the mark has no color life, then the potential mate is dead. And for someone to be born with a "dead mark" is all but unheard of. Barry had been an object of pity through most of his childhood, his parents had been wonderful and loving, but they had also been distant. They'd been part of the first generation of soul marked mates and their love for each other had been boundless. To have a child whose mark had been dead seemed a terrible betrayal of that love.

Nora and Henry died together, killed in a freak car accident an empty road outside of Starling City, when Barry was nineteen. Although the tragedy had left Barry an orphan, he'd come to realize that it had been for the best that his parents left the world together. They wouldn't have survived long without each other.

He only regrets that they didn't live long enough to see the mark on his arm come alive. The doctors he'd seen were puzzled. In their admittedly limited exposure to the whole soul mark phenomena, they'd never seen a dead mark come to life and had suggested that perhaps Barry's soulmate had just been born.

Barry still finds the idea seriously icky. He'll be close to forty by the time his soulmate is old enough to come looking for him.

The rest of the day passes quickly. Police officers come and go, dropping off evidence, picking up reports. He's called to a crime scene a few hours before the end of his shift and ends up staying until seven to get all of the trace evidence analyses set up and running and ready for the morning.

Dinner is cold pizza and a beer and Barry can't help but think that at twenty-seven, he should be eating more adult food. In penance, he sets his alarm for seven AM and plans to go for a run. If he'd going to eat crap for dinner, he'll have to work it off in the morning.

Barry's not really tired when he gets into bed, but that's okay. He's got a treat waiting for him on his nightstand.

 _Harrison Wells – A Biography_.

Barry's been doing his best not to devour the door-stopper sized book about his favorite scientist and long-time _idée fixe_. A few years ago, he'd made the mistake of telling Iris that he had kind of a crush on Dr. Wells and she'd teased him unmercifully about it. But she'd also used her connections at the CCPN to get archive information about Central City's leading scientific luminary, and for his twenty-fourth birthday, had presented him with a three-inch thick binder filled with copies of newspaper clippings and scientific journal articles – ones that Barry would never had a way of getting his hands on.

The book on his nightstand hadn't been a gift from Iris, although the framed poster hanging on the wall – a piece of bookstore promotional material – had been a Christmas present.

The book is a surprisingly thrilling read; it's not just dry scientific facts and research triumphs. There's a very enticing human being revealed by the biographer, who paints Harrison Wells as a compelling ass, prickly, contemptuous, and demanding of both the people around him as of himself.

Barry finishes a single chapter, about the founding of S.T.A.R. Labs, and indulges himself in his favorite fantasy – leaving the CCPD and getting a job at S.T.A.R. Labs. Not that he doesn't love being a CSI, but working at S.T.A.R. Labs is a long-held dream.

Tonight, though, his fantasy takes a different turn. He's not the shining star in the company's forensics division, but he's being interviewed by none other than Harrison Wells himself.

The single light in his bedroom – from his reading lamp – casts an eerie shadow on the poster of Doctor Wells. Those eyes, piercing blue behind the eyeglasses, merge with the fantasy building in Barry's mind.

_He's wearing his best suit, a collared shirt and a tie that Iris had given him just for this occasion - it's yellow with black stripes and little blossoms of red. To Barry's surprise and delight, Doctor Wells comments on it._

_"Your tie is very striking. Those are actually my favorite colors."_

_Harrison Wells isn't wearing a tie; he's kind of famous for his designer suits and his open collars._

_Barry licks his lips. "Thank you, sir."_

_Doctor Wells smiles, ever so slightly. "And I like that you call me 'sir'. I think that bodes well for our future … association."_

_Barry sucks in his breath. He's certain that Doctor Wells isn't being sexually suggestive – not on an interview, surely?_

_But then Wells says, "And while I do like your neckwear, I'd prefer that you take it off."_

_Barry feels his hands reaching for his collar, he's pulling the knot loose and the silk soon slides free. For some reason, he hands the tie to Doctor Wells, who folds it carefully and sets it aside._

_"We'll find a use for this in the near future." Wells' smile sends a shiver down Barry's spine and right to his cock. "Would you do one more thing for me, Mr. Allen?"_

_"Yes, sir. Whatever you want."_

_"Take off your jacket and roll up your right sleeve. I want to see your forearm."_

_Barry swallows hard – he doesn't want to show Doctor Wells his strange mark."_

_"Mr. Allen, is there a problem?"_

_"No, no." He gets up and takes off his jacket, making a production of putting it on the back of the chair._

_"Your sleeve, Mr. Allen. I need to see your arm."_

_Barry does as Doctor Wells commands, and despite the queasy feeling in his stomach – he never displays his soul mark - he's unbearably aroused. He can't ever remember feeling like this. With great reluctance, he turns his arm over and shows the pale skin with its tangled mark to Doctor Wells. The mark is still an ugly mass of lines, but it's glowing with life, brighter than Barry has have seen it._

_Wells purses his lips and nods infinitesimally. "Thank you, Mr. Allen."_

_Barry hears the disappointment in Wells' voice and he doesn't know what's wrong. If he's done something wrong._

_But the smile returns to Wells' lips. "Touch yourself."_

_Barry blinks._

_"Touch your cock, Mr. Allen. After all, you're hard as a rock."_

_Barry hesitates._

_"Through your pants, Mr. Allen. Just two fingers along your fly."_

_"Yes, sir." Barry is obedient to Wells' command._

_"Very good, Mr. Allen. Just keep stroking yourself."_

Time is immaterial in this fantasy. Barry keeps his eyes on the poster of Wells as he fists his cock. Wells might be commanding him to take it slowly in his fantasy, but his cock's too hard and hungry for such delicacy. 

_"You're a good boy, aren't you?"_

_Barry stops stroking and glares at Wells. "I'm not a boy."_

_Wells' smile broadens. "No, Mr. Allen, you are not. It was only meant as a term of … affection."_

_"I don't like it." Barry clenches his fists._

_"And I stand correctly – you may be obedient, you may be respectful, but you are not a boy. I do appreciate that. A boy wouldn't have had the strength of will to correct me."_

_Barry nods, unsure if he's being praised or criticized._

_"Oh, it's most certainly praise, Mr. Allen. While there is a certain delight in unquestioned obedience, I prefer a partner who is an equal. As much as anyone is my equal."_

_Wells' arrogance isn't a surprise. The biography makes that clear. "It's nice to know that."_

_"I've shared my bed with my share of sycophants. I hope that your future … performance … is consistent with this demonstration."_

_Barry tries not to squirm in his chair. He's all too conscious of the way his shirt is clinging to his sweaty torso, how hard his cock is against the fly of his trousers. Wants to touch himself, he wants to come so badly. He wants to see Harrison Wells touching himself, too._

_"Ask nicely, Mr. Allen, and you just might receive."_

_"Please, sir. May I see your cock?"_

_"Of course. And let me see yours, Mr. Allen."_

Barry's hips arch off the bed and his fist pistons as he climaxes. From the wall, Harrison Wells' eyes glow an unearthly blue.

As the rush fades, Barry shivers. The night air and the cooling come on his sweaty skin are unpleasant sensations. He finds his sleep pants on the floor and uses them to wipe himself clean. Tossing them back to the floor, Barry pulls up the covers and turns off the reading lamp.

Although sleep comes easily tonight, his dreams are haunted by blue eyes and quietly issued commands.

__

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow me at my tumblr [Obscene Circus Ponies](http://elrhiarhodan.tumblr.com/), and on my old school (and much beloved) [Dreamwidth](https://elrhiarhodan.dreamwidth.org/) account.


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